


You're not good enough

by peterrrparkour



Category: tom holland - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, king of the mob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 00:42:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16733757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterrrparkour/pseuds/peterrrparkour
Summary: You’ve always dreamed of the day you’d meet your soulmate, but when you discover he’s a mobster with no faith in soulmates, will you just brush him off? Or will fate pull you back together?





	1. Chapter 1

_When it comes to soulmates there are two types of people._ First are those who wholeheartedly believe that it’s meant to be, and don’t even try looking for love on their own. Then, there are those who dismiss it as a myth, who either search for someone else or don’t search at all.

You were the former of the two, the type that spent every night dreaming of a love that’s set in stone, so powerful and compelling that you would fall in love at first sight. To say that you were nervous the day your date came around was a total understatement.

Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you tugged at the corner of your sweater, exposing the glowing tattoo etched into your collarbone from birth. Today was the date scrawled into your skin, your tattoo illuminating your surroundings, yet it never shone this bright before. Not wanting to look at it anymore, you scrambled to snatch up your keys beside the door. Worried thoughts bounced off each other, fears that you wouldn’t show up to the right place, fears that you would miss your soulmate and your one chance at love. Playing into fate, you decided to just drive, stopping when you felt it was right or saw a sign. There had to be a sign, right?

* * *

“Fuck, Harrison do I really have to come and do this myself?” Tom swore stormily into the phone, pissed off he had to do the dirty work after the day he had been having so far.

“Tom, we can’t get anything out from him. And they always talk when you show up,  _always_ ,” Haz emphasized, and Tom knew he was right. He hated that it had gotten this far in the first place, that someone had the balls to test his authority. Whoever it was was going to be in a world of pain to question the leader of the mob, and they picked the worst day to do it.

Stepping outside to his car, the rain fell down to the ground heavily, darkening Tom’s mood further. The dark grey clouds hid the sun from shining, the foggy rain coming down with purpose, making the day in just one word: gloomy. Tom slammed the backseat door shut with force, the driver stepping on the gas right away at Tom’s obviously irritated signal.

Minutes seemed to tick away sluggishly while Tom bit down unnoticeably hard on his bottom lip until the distinct taste of blood filled his mouth. He brought the sleeve of his jacket to his lip, swiping away the trickles of red in one hastened movement. Flipping his wrist around, he checked the time on his Rolex, and blew out a puff of air once he realized he still had a long drive ahead. He pondered with the thought of pressing a gun to the back of the driver’s head to give him an incentive to pick up the pace.

Before he could make up his mind, the car abruptly halted, the screech of the tires against the slick, black pavement filling Tom’s consciousness. His hand gripped the seat in front of him as he made his decision, snatching his gun from the inside of his coat and forcing it down the driver’s neck.

“What the hell?” Tom screamed, no patience left in him. The driver shakily raised his hands in an act of surrender, nodding his head at the car parked in the dead middle of the road in front of them. As Tom’s gaze fell upon the vehicle blocking his path, he practically tore off the door handle, gun in his grasp, ready to kill whoever was inconveniencing his day further.

Taking quick, angry strides as the rain soaked into his expensive clothes, his finger wavered over the trigger, almost about to kill on instant. He scowled into the empty driver’s seat, confusion only serving to increase his rage. Tom circled the car, until he almost tripped over you, huddled in a ball on the slippery road.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped, giving your side a kick so he could get a better look. You swiveled your head to look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks in black smears. Your lips were tainted a pale blue and your soaking hair dripped down your chilled to the touch skin.

“Isn’t it fucking obvious? My tire popped and I don’t have a spare and now I’ll never meet my soulmate,” you sarcastically cried, usually nice to strangers but not after your terrible day, and especially not after he rudely kicked you as a greeting. Tom rolled his eyes in disgust, but his finger loosened over the trigger. He normally would have shot anyone who dared to speak to him that way, but he felt a miniscule pang of pity for you. After all, you looked extremely depressing and pathetic hunched over in a freezing, wet mess. Tom cursed under his breath, not believing what he was about to do.

“Just get in my car then, okay?” he sighed in frustration, dragging you by your arm up to your feet.

“Why would I do that, you could be a murderer for all I know?” you questioned him, knowing you would probably agree to his offer anyway. He grinned devilishly at the irony in your words.

“Not quite, darling,” he murmured, pulling you into the dry backseat of his car. Your body broke out into a shiver as you looked at your car with sadness.

“But what about my car? I can’t just leave it in the middle of the road, what if it gets hit?” you pointed out, not ready to part with it. He glared at you for all the complications you seemed to come with.

“It’s a piece of shit anyway,” he snidely commented, eliciting an offended gasp from you. The driver didn’t wait any longer, taking off and leaving your car behind, and you followed it with your eyes as you drove off. You let out a huff, the tears sliding down your face hard to differentiate from the raindrops. You pulled your arms into your chest in an attempt to generate some warmth, your wet clothes sticking to your skin. Tom felt the strange pity he rarely felt before when he looked at you, and he tried to tear his eyes off you but he couldn’t.

“Take off your sweater,” he commanded, and you turned to glare at him in annoyance.

“What? Why? I’m only wearing a bra underneath,” you confessed, not trusting him even a little.

“Do you want to freeze? Here, just take my coat,” Tom repeatedly rolled his eyes before you gave him a slight nod of agreement. Your eyes caught a glimpse of his collarbone as he pulled off his jacket, a golden glow escaping from underneath the fabric of his shirt. You paused in disbelief as he impatiently held the coat out for you to grab.

“Aren’t you going to take it?” he urged you, pushing the jacket closer to you.

“You… It’s you? You’re him?” you stuttered, your mood shifting from one of hopelessness to hopeful. A slow smile spread across your lips, and you leaned in to tug down his shirt. Tom grabbed your wrist, squeezing it so roughly you swore it was going to fall of completely.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, princess,” he whispered, your faces mere inches apart. Your eyes twinkled as you saw him in a new light, all your worry washing away with the rain. You had found him, the man you were supposed to love for the rest of your life.

 _“You’re my soulmate…”_  you uttered, ripping off your sweater to show him your matching date tattoo; it glowed so bright the backseat lit up in a brilliant show of light. For a brief second, he seemed to look relieved as well. It was such a fleeting expression, but you could’ve sworn you saw excitement and optimism written all over him. As quickly as it started, he shut it down right away and returned to his normal cold-hearted demeanor.

“Darling, I’m head of the mob. I don’t know anything about you, but I don’t need to, because I can tell you right now that  _ **you’re not good enough**_ ,” Tom scoffed at you, destroying the wishful moment you had shared together. You felt your heart collapse in your chest, an absolutely soul-crushing wave of emotion overtaking you.

“But… that’s not how it works,” was all you could think to say. How could he do this? This wasn’t the way you pictured this moment at all, the moment you had been turning over in your imagination for years.

“This tattoo? Is bullshit. You want a soulmate? Then go find one, because I’m not going to be yours,” he harshly spat, no longer feeling any pity. Your lips trembled as you tried to comprehend that this was reality, this was actually happening to you. Your breaths grew ragged as you struggled to take in oxygen.

“Pull over, I want to get out,” you murmured quietly, your voice cracking as you sniffled and wiped away tears running down your cheeks.

“I can still take you home, prince–”

“LET ME OUT!” you screamed, unable to conceal your hurt anymore. Tom was shocked, but he did as you asked, nodding to the driver to pull off to the side of the road, the rain still coming down hard as ever. You immediately flung the door open, jumping out into the storm. Before you slammed the car door, you locked eyes with him, a slightly amused smile on his lips pushed you over the edge.

“Screw you!” you cursed, slamming the door with as much force as you could muster, hoping you did significant damage like he did to your heart.

He wasted no more time, swerving back on the road and leaving you in the dust. Your chin quivered as you spun around on your heels and began the long walk back to your car.

You didn’t understand any of it, this was not the way it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be romantic, a story you would tell to your children that would get passed on to generations. It was supposed to go down in history, to make your life complete. You had no idea how to even move on; how could you find someone else when everybody was destined for one person, and your person didn’t want you?

 **“Please tell me that I’m wrong, so wrong…”** you muttered to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, hoping this was just a nightmare you could wake up from. Nothing changed when your eyes flashed open, and you sulked back to your car in the pouring rain.

Another thing about soulmates, is that you can try to break the bond, but it’s not a clean cut. Fate will pull you back into each other until you’re too exhausted to deny the connection.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom cracked his knuckles as he burst into the room, the loud pop almost sounded sickening in a previously eerily silent space. It was a routine he had stuck to like clockwork, so much so that it soon became his signature; the crack was a warning to whomever was bolted into the chair that they probably weren’t coming out of it without pain. **  
**

But to Tom, he didn’t feel the usual rush of power when he stepped inside. He couldn’t shake away the butterflies he felt when your fingertips grazed his tattoo, the same tattoo he never had thought twice about until that moment. It was almost as if Tom could feel again, and that didn’t make his job any easier. He felt increasingly desperate, like he was losing his touch, and he needed to use this man to remind himself of who he was. The very core of the mob.

Tom strided out of the shadows enveloping his daunting figure in darkness, his dramatic reveal making the man in the chair squirm and reconsider his decision not to spill what he knew. Tom flippantly ignored the string of pleas bursting out of his lips, instead his dusky brown eyes bore into the man, as if he could telepathically inflict pain without having to lift a single finger. If that wasn’t threatening enough, the corners of his mouth gradually inched upward into a diabolical, closed-lip smirk. With each step Tom took, the clack from his metallic boots striking the cement floor reverberated through the room. He was like a god, thunder rumbling wherever he walked, lightning igniting from the tips of his fingers.

He stopped dead in his tracks, hovering above the man who cowered in the chair beneath him. Tom wasn’t incredibly bulky; it wasn’t his size that made him intimidating, but his demeanor. The man’s eyes fell to the floor, trying to look anywhere but at the mobster above him. Tom despised cowardice, this man had denied to relay information, and now he couldn’t take the heat from his stupid decision. He grabbed the man’s chin roughly, his calloused palms painfully grinded against his skin as Tom forced him to meet his stares. With the other hand, he pulled out his gun with grace, his movements almost beautiful and skillfully perfected with the heavy experience Tom had in the subject. He guided the barrel to the man’s forehead, causing him to shiver uncontrollably in his chair from the cool touch as well as the fear from almost certain death.

Unexpectedly, Tom tossed the gun to the floor, the loud clang confusing not only the man but the fellow mobsters lurking in the shadows. However, Tom wasn’t indecisive or confused. He knew from practice that there were much worse, exciting ways to inflict pain than by simply pulling a trigger.

 

* * *

“So, do you believe in soulmates?” your date asked from across the table, his words making you cringe, the wound still sore as if it were only yesterday that you had been denied. Actually, it had been only yesterday that reality as you knew it came crashing down. The night before, on the long walk back to your car in the storm, you refused to sulk about losing him. If he didn’t want you, you didn’t want him. There were plenty of fish in the sea, right?

“I did… but not anymore,” you cleared your throat and confessed your newfound beliefs, that changed within not even twenty-four hours. He nodded as if he understood, you judged by his reaction he was one of those that wanted love now, and didn’t want to wait around for someone who might not even exist. Or in your case, someone that did exist that already hated your guts.

“Makes sense, only naive airheads believe in them anymore. It’s a thing of the past, kind of creepy in a way too, like nature’s way of arranging marriages,” he rambled on, and you tried not to appear offended but the sore topic was not something you wanted to discuss all night. The date wasn’t going anywhere so you blurted out an excuse to step away and recollect yourself.

You slid out of the booth, your breaths uneven as you practically ran to the bathroom feeling completely hopeless. How did you think you could possibly fall in love with someone just because of a mark on your collarbone? That wasn’t the definition of real love, and now it seemed like everywhere you went people made that perfectly clear.

Keeping your eyes trained to the floor, you ran smack into a sturdy figure, and toppled backward a few steps. You would have fallen if it weren’t for a quick hand that gripped your side, pulling you into the stranger’s chest. Your eyes flicked upward, meeting an all too familiar set of brown eyes, yet they seemed different than the night before, almost warmer, more inviting. Expecting a smirk and rude remark, you squinted at him in distaste, his hand still on your hip, so hot it seemed to burn into your side.

“What are you doing here, princess? I told you that–” he started to remind you of his intentions, but you didn’t need a rehash.

“I’m not here for you, actually. I’m on a date, not that it’s any of your business,” you snapped, throwing his bitterness right back in his face, his gorgeous face you tried to ignore. Surprisingly, his expression seemed to shrink a bit, almost as if he was saddened by your announcement.

“Ha, good luck with that,” he returned to his apparent normal state of being a total jerk. You tried to stay furious, but all you could feel was heat, from his chest getting dangerously close to yours, from his hand resting on your body, from his snug breath you could feel hot against your cheeks. You bit back your lip to stop yourself from smiling, why did he make you feel so… giggly?

“Well, I should get back,” you broke away from his touch, much harder to do than you expected, like you were bonded and inseparable.

You struggled to turn away, before you could take another step he reached out to snatch onto your hand, sliding a slip of paper between your fingers. You didn’t unfold it, simply held it up to him as a question.

“I don’t even know your name, princess,” he didn’t address the paper, only continued to pull you back in with his enticing words. You stood a little taller, reminding yourself it was never going to work.

“Why does it matter, I’m not good enough for you,  _remember?_ ” you retorted, smiling proudly at the taken aback look that encompassed his beautiful face. He soon picked his jaw off the floor, and motioned with a wave to the slip of paper still in your grasp.

“My number, in case your shitty car breaks down in the rain, and you want me to pick you up and then let you out on the side of the road again,” he grinned, sending happy chills through you. You thought he should smile more often, it drew all the attention in the room, but in a good way. Shaking your head, you closed off his strange attempts to make things better, he had already burned down the bridge between you two.

You ripped the paper in two pieces, and shoved them into your purse, where you would throw them away the next chance you got. Without another word, you spun around to return to your date, feeling electrified from the interaction. You flashed him a smile from your side of the booth, and he picked up right where he left out, ranting on about how stupid the concept of soulmates was. He must’ve had a bad experience too.

Bored, your fingers dug into your purse, landing on the ripped up slip of paper. You pulled it out onto your lap, piecing back the pieces together, curiosity getting the best of you. An unrecognizable number was scrawled across it, but what really caught your eye was the name written above it.

_Tom_

You couldn’t help but let out a small gasp, it was like you knew in your heart that’s what his name was, even though you didn’t. Your head snapped up, eyes scanning the restaurant, finding him at the back of a group of men leaving out the door. It was like he could sense your stare, and he whipped around to return your gaze, knowing exactly who it was.

He flashed you a warm smile, like no one else in the room could see it, it was just your little secret. He made everything else disappear and your nails gripped into the seat to keep you from running into his arms. With one last look, he seemed to resist the equal urge he felt to go to you, and he walked out the door. Your heart dropped in your chest, and you were left with more questions than answers. Why did he keep sending you mixed emotions? It was almost more cruel than leaving you in the rain. Tom was in the mob, you needed to remember that, and that he was beyond cruel, a killer, not a lover.

 

* * *

10:45 p.m.

Tom beat into the heavy bag, sweat trickling down the sides of his cheeks as his muscles burned in exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop swinging out of pure frustration. He felt so trapped, so unfocused. He pushed away the bag, reaching out to the bench to check his phone for the hundredth time that night. Flicking open the screen, a surge of hope rushed through him, that he had simply missed your call.

No new notifications.

“Fuck!” he cursed, resisting the urge to throw his phone, he had a pile of old phones with decimated screens and he needed to take some control. He settled on tossing his phone back on the bench, returning to the bag to beat out his anger until he not a drop of energy remained in him.

 

* * *

You tossed over in bed, huddled tight in the blankets, in an attempt to weigh yourself down so much that you wouldn’t get up to grab Tom’s number from your purse. Fuck it.

You ran into the kitchen and snatched up your purse, pulling out the torn paper and setting it on the counter to examine over and over again. Nothing had changed, but his sloppy handwriting sent a rush of adrenaline through you as if he had just slid it into your hand. You grabbed the paper and balled it up, throwing it into the trash bin. There, you thought. Out of sight, out of mind.

Turning back to walk to bed, your limbs felt like they weighed a million tons, like they were stuck to the ground. The only way you could walk was back to the trash, and before you knew it, you unraveled the beyond crinkled slip of paper and dialed the number into your phone.

“What?” Tom’s bitter voice struck into your ears, making you regret your rash decision. You exhaled into the speaker, unsure of what you even wanted to say.

“Is that how you always answer the phone?” you snidely commented, not knowing that you made his heart stop with the sound of your voice he had been praying to hear one more time.

“Well it is one a.m, so…” he trailed off, and you smacked your forehead, feeling like an oblivious idiot.

“Yeah, I was just going to ask for you to meet me, but nevermind, it’s crazy,” you summed up, finger hovering over the end call button.

“Wait!” he practically screamed into your ear, bringing a relieved smile to your lips. You paused, waiting for him to continue.

_“Where?”_


	3. Chapter 3

om’s eyes stayed glued to the twenty-four hour diner door, flipping his wrist to check the time on his watch every other second. He wasn’t aware of his heavy breathing, or the fact that his foot tapped repeatedly against the black and white tiles. His coffee had long turned stale and cold, but he hadn’t even taken a sip in the first place to run the risk of missing your entrance. Glancing at his watch again, Tom swore louder than intended, earning a questioning glare from the waiter wiping down the counter with a dirty, faded-white rag.

_1:45 a.m._

Thoughts raced in his mind; what if you weren’t coming? What if it was all a trick to get back at Tom for the stunt he pulled that night alongside the road? Either way, he knew he’d anxiously wait at the aged, torn-up booth for hours if that were the case .

The jingling bells tied to the door snapped Tom out of his haze, a sweet, heavenly sound to his ears. Peeking above the top of the booth, his eyes lingered over you dressed casually in an old baggy t-shirt and leggings. His heart still thumped in his chest as he tried to act calm, act like he hadn’t arrived twenty-five minutes before you. Gripping the bottom of his seat, Tom gave you a brief nod as you slid in across from him. He tried to channel the power, the confidence he always maintained as a mobster, but only managed to form a weak smile on his lips.

“H-hey…” Tom stuttered, lips slightly shaking from the pressure he felt building up in his throat, pressure he rarely had to deal with.

“Hi,” you let out, not really sure how to respond. This was a completely different Tom than you had seen before, nowhere near the arrogant, contemptible man you encountered in the backseat of the car and the restaurant. His mouth opened, no words coming out, and you knew you had to break the silence before he bursted.

“So you like this place?” you blurted out, coming up with nothing better to ask. Tom’s eyes scanned the diner, finally taking in something other than the door. The counter was painted an obnoxiously bright red, the nauseating patterns of the floor tiles already too much for the eye. Everything seemed cracked and rusty, not appealing to his usual taste at all. It was almost vacant, except for a shady, indistinguishable man with his grey hood pulled over his head, hunched over the last week’s newspaper in a far-away booth.

“It’s… interesting,” Tom tried to phrase it nicely, shocking you further.

“You’re not going to insult it like you normally do?” you slipped out, the words sounding a bit more hostile than you would’ve liked. His cheeks paled, until a reddish tinge spread back across them in a hint of defensiveness.

“Like I normally do? Princess, you don’t even know me,” he flat-out reminded you, your mouth bending into a slight frown as you deflected your gaze to the ugly tiles.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve made that clear before,” you sighed, hands reaching out to your purse, instincts telling you to leave before things got any worse. You cursed yourself for thinking Tom would be any different than earlier, just because he was your soulmate didn’t mean a thing, which you found out the hard way. Shifting your legs toward the outside of the booth ready to ditch, his hand extended out to snatch onto your wrist, forcefully yanking you back in. Taking in your frightened expression, he quickly removed his hold on you, sinking back into the chair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, love. I just, we don’t know each other, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try,” Tom admitted, revealing a softer side to himself. A cotton candy pink blush diffused over your cheeks, the thought of getting to know him, with all his secretiveness, was enticing. Captivated by your every move, his eyes bore into you waiting impatiently for a response. You debated shutting him down, being sarcastic, anything to distance yourself from his unsteadiness and tendency to go back and forth with his emotions.

“Y-you really want to try?  _With me?_ ” you faltered, a tone of disbelief evident in your questioning. You didn’t think Tom could be trusted with anything, especially not your heart. He was knee-deep in the murky waters of the mob, and although his feelings for you might have changed, that fact remained ever present. As if reading your thoughts, he brushed his pinky finger against yours, the little bit of contact swept through your entire body in a shudder.

“Yeah, I do. I know I was… unpleasant at first, but you’re starting to grow on me,” he half-joked, a giggle escaping your lips. You shoved his hand creeping toward you away, earning a soft, lovable pout from him.

“Well if you would stop following me everywhere I go,” you teased, a wide grin reflected on both of your expressions. Time sped up when he met your eyes, that same sparkle twinkling in them that stole your breath away every time.

“Yeah, sure, princess. We both know you’re the one stalking me, the crazy, obsessed soulmate type,” Tom quipped in, your heart fluttered and you wiped your sweaty palms off on the sides of the fabric covering your thighs at the nickname that just stuck with you.

“Says the one who doesn’t even believe in them!” you shouted in defense, still lightheartedly. Tom paused, a memory striking his brain and he found himself telling it without another thought.

“My mom used to tell me this thing about soulmates when I was little, I know it’s stupid but, maybe… I don’t know,” he stopped himself, regretting bringing it up at all.

“What is it?” you pried, desperate to uncover any little thing he had to tell about his past.

“She said that… that you can test if the bond you have with your soulmate is real, by your first kiss. That it’s supposed to feel, I don’t know, special or some shit,” he mumbled, trying to pass it off like just a naive fable. A slow smirk slipped over your lips, and he buried his face in your hands until you grabbed both of his wrists, pulling them off.

“So let’s test it, then,” your breath hitched, fear rising in your chest, fear that you had taken it to far. His chocolate eyes snapped up, his mouth hung slightly ajar, not believing he heard you correctly.

Tom knew he shouldn’t have brought it up, that he shouldn’t even be with you. He shouldn’t be testing a bond that could potentially capture him in a spell of love so powerful it would wipe out everything he had built. The mob wasn’t built on love, it was completely the opposite of what you could have together if you kept meeting up like this. It was built on greed, a hunger, a desire to be top gun no matter the sacrifice. Tom couldn’t have a bond with someone, he couldn’t be forced to choose.

But there was this force drawing him in closer and closer, like he wasn’t moving out of free will. He wanted to pull away, to run out the door and never look back. Your skin seemed to glow in front of him, and he leaned in over the table, letting his guard down as his eyelids fluttered closed.

A high-pitched scream, and the feeling of being dragged out of the booth and tossed to the cold tiles snapped Tom out of his haze. A man with fire in his eyes, grey hood still pulled over his head, aimed a gun straight at Tom’s beating chest, finger wavering over the trigger ready to fire. A brief moment of fear passed over Tom, until he reminded himself who he was, closed his eyes and remembered his training. He calmly breathed out, ready to take control over the situation with ease.

You trembled all over from your position, misreading Tom’s closed eyes as an acceptance of his fate. Panicked and not thinking clearly, you dove onto the floor, splaying yourself over Tom to take a bullet for him.

“Stop! We’re soulmates and you can’t take him from me– you can’t, you can’t just do that!” your yells echoed throughout the almost empty diner.

“No! Y/N, shut up!” Tom whispered into your ear, anger boiling in his veins. He had it. He could have talked his way out of it, if that didn’t work fight his way to his feet. Not knowingly, you ruined the chances of either of you escaping without consequences.

“Your soulmate? Who knew the great  _Tom Holland_  has a weak spot?” he grinned, a diabolical laugh bellowing from his cracked teeth and shadowed face. In less than a second, he reversed the situation, pulling you off of Tom and training the gun to your skull. With his other hand, he withdrew a second gun from his coat, forcing Tom to stay still on the ground.

“What do you want?” Tom coldly spat from between his gritted teeth, frustration at the vulnerability of his situation driving him over the edge.

“Well  _originally_  I wanted to make you suffer for what you did to my brother. You know, the guy you murdered two days ago because he’s not a snitch? Now, I think I’ve found something better, a way to make you feel what the lead of the Hollands never feels.  _Loss_ ,” his words dripped with an undeniable personal suffering, and rage at Tom for making it all happen.

You gaped at Tom, who flinched at the horrified, even afraid look present on your face. Tom knew something like this would happen, literally the second he began to close his eyes and trust in an emotion other than hate. The man dug the barrel of the gun deeper into your forehead, eliciting a fearful cry for help from you. He slowly began to back away towards the door, your feet dragging against the patterned tiles frozen still. Beyond terrified, you looked out to Tom, sure he could do something to stop it from happening, anything at all. Tom could only look with an equally terror-stricken expression back at you, a tingling numbness at the reality bolting him to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” you screeched after him, your fingers grazing over the door frame, wanting to grip onto it and stay with your soulmate, but the gun moving down to your neck convinced you otherwise. As the freezing gush of outside air blew your hair in all directions, you clung on to the promise that flew from Tom’s lips before the man threw you into the trunk of his car and slammed down the hood.

_“Just hold on, princess, I’m coming for you!”_


	4. Chapter 4

“No, you drop it!” Tom unrelenting growled from behind the barrel of his gun. The man who had taken you away from him stood smirking, gun in hand as well. Tom couldn’t play this game of “you shoot first” all night; he had no idea where you were and needed answers. He needed to mix it up, to make something happen, and fast.

“She’s not even here, and if you kill me you’ll never find her,” he leered at Tom, cocking his head to the side and lifting an eyebrow as if to dare him to test his words for truthfulness. Tom dug his heels back into the cement floor, furious that the roles were reversed. He usually was the one to do the abducting, he was never the hero. Tom didn’t even know how to be a hero, it wasn’t a trait he required to lead the mob. The only thing he knew was what not to do, what this man could anticipate from him. It was a fruitless chase like his feet were glued to the base of a carousel, and all he could do was watch as he spun in circles endlessly.

“So what do you want me to do, then? What do you get out of this? I highly doubt you want to stand here all night aiming guns at each other,” Tom reasoned in an attempt to decipher his motives. He would give him anything he wanted: money, property, mobsters, even an apology for the death of his brother. Tom just needed you, he needed his soulmate.

“If that’s what it takes, then I’m fine doing this,” he shrugged, not revealing anything of use for Tom to manipulate to his advantage.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Tom raised his voice, growing impatient. He didn’t know what they were doing to you, and every second he wasted talking could be another you were getting hurt.

“If this is what it takes to make you feel what you make others feel. That anxiety? The helplessness? The fear?” the word slipped one by one from his tense lips. His eyes gained a reddish tinge, light blue veins bulged out from underneath his skin, so detailed every bend could be traced over the top of his wrists. Tom could clearly see the effect of his actions and a guilty feeling crashed into him, knocking him a few steps backward. Then he realized the man was growing emotional, and that meant sloppy. This was his chance.

“Oh, is that what you felt when I took your brother? I could have killed him with one shot, but I made it last longer than a quick pull of the trigger,” Tom sneered, hoping his words would make him more reckless, more susceptible to make a mistake. His knuckles turned white from the intense grip on his gun, aimed at Tom’s forehead. His fingers began to quake from the wild thoughts running through his mind, of the killer in front of him.

“There are a lot of things I could tell my men to do to her right now, things that cause so much pain she’ll beg for them to just kill her already. I bet right now she’s wondering where you are! What did you tell her again, something like, ‘I’m coming for you princess’?” he collected himself, turning the tables on Tom. Tom’s heart ached at the thought of you hurt, of you waiting for him. Tom strode forward mercilessly, ready to pull the trigger. He didn’t need this man to tell him where you were; he’d find you on his own without any help.

A loud ring from Tom’s phone wedged in the pocket of his midnight-black coat interrupted the heated moment, a gurgle of annoyance flew out of his lips. Letting it ring, he continued to step closer to the man. After a brief pause of silence, his phone gave out another ring, a smile grew on the man’s face at the awkwardness of the moment. Cursing, Tom withdrew the phone, giving the screen a quick glance he noticed it was an unknown number, and forcefully chucked it across the room. The phone cracked against the wall, finally quiet again. Time to make a move and Tom only hoped it would be the right one.

***

You fumbled around in the cramped up, pitch-black darkness of the trunk. You had no idea how long you had been in there, just that it had been too long. The frustration pent up with the sound of the hum of the engine and of men snickering in the front seat as if you weren’t a real human being suffocating in the trunk. You tried to position yourself in a way that the second they popped open the hood, you’d be ready for it. It might be your only chance to save yourself.

The familiar vibration of the rolling wheels underneath you came to a stop, as did the laughter and drone of the engine. Your breath hitched and hands gripped a makeshift weapon your fingers had grazed over, some tool but it was better than nothing. Counting each second through your heartbeats, minutes ticked by and the trunk remained closed. There were no peals of laughter or hushed whispers, everything was silent. Realizing this opportunity, you flipped to your side to face the inside of the car.

One after the other, you drove kick after kick into the seats blocking your path to escape. Sweat trickled down your forehead, probably leaving stains in your clothes but none of that even crossed your mind. With each aggressive kick, the seats budged more and more until you could make out a sliver of light. Pushing against the seats with your hands, you let out an angry cry, a strength you weren’t aware of had taken over your limbs. The weakened seats collapsed against the pressure and you fell into the backseat of the car, a wide smile filling up your features.

Ignoring the pain from your screaming, sore muscles, you climbed to the front seat, searching for keys. Your hand skimmed over something even better: a cellphone. Tears of pure joy rolled down your flushed cheeks, and you shakily swiped up the screen. A password protected the contents, but you hit the emergency call button and dialed Tom’s number immediately. You bit down on your lip, feeling anxious as each long ring echoed across the car until the call went to voicemail.

“No!” you stormily whispered, not believing this was really happening. Tom had screamed after you that he was going to find you, and now he couldn’t even pick up the damn phone when you called? Refusing to give up so easily, you slammed your finger into each button and confidently pressed call again. Halfway through a ring, the call ceased.

“What the fuck, Tom!” you gasped, clutching onto the phone harder. This could only mean he had seen the incoming call and denied it, but why would he do that? Your happy tears soon turned to frustrated ones, but you couldn’t just sit in the car and cry. The men could be back any minute, so you dialed emergency services, relieved when the operator picked up on the first ring. Even if for some reason Tom didn’t care about you anymore, you were still determined to get out of this alive.

***

“Gonna shoot me Tom?” he quipped, the two mobsters stood close to twenty feet apart, both hands resting on the triggers. Tom ignored the comment, he had made up his mind and wasn’t going to change it. The left corner of Tom’s mouth twitched upward into a half-smirk; he was planning on enjoying this kill even though it would be quick and relatively painless.

Tom dropped a hand from the gun, pressing his wrist into his leg to crack his knuckle, never letting go of his signature move. Seeing an opportunity to strike, the man shocked Tom by pulling down on his trigger with two fingers.

The boom from the gun reverberated throughout the space between them as Tom’s limp body collapsed to the cement. Thick, red blood oozed from his upper shoulder, a quiet groan escaped his parted, pale lips. Tom’s vision blurred as he watched the man’s footsteps flee out the door, leaving him to die splayed out on the ground alone.

Body trembling, Tom forced himself to crawl over to his cell phone in the corner, each drag sent a shockwave of pain to his gaping bullet wound. Finally reaching his destination, his chin fell to the floor in pure exhaustion. Barely able to see, he pressed down on the power button, praying he hadn’t decimated his chances at coming out of this alive. He didn’t forget the number one goal, he had to rescue you and he couldn’t do that if he was dead.

Breathing out a shaky sigh of relief, the home screen lit up, and Tom’s fingers flew to his contacts, pressing on the first name that popped up as his head rolled backward and heartbeats slowed.

_‘Calling Harrison’_


	5. Finale

Your legs hung freely off the edge of the hospital bed, the steady drone of high-pitched beeps from miscellaneous machines in the room faded into the background. Swinging each leg back and forth, your eyes stared blankly at a murky brown coffee stain on one of the police officer’s uniforms. They threw question after question at you, greedy for anything to crack the case, but you knew they didn’t have anything on the mob.

Your mind was hooked on one thought: where was Tom? A tight ball of worry grew stronger with each minute he didn’t burst into the door with a valid excuse. Closing your eyes, you envisioned Tom rushing past the officers, insisting they leave, and he’d pull you into his arms, peppering you with kisses and murmurs of “princess” under his breath.

Bored with the interrogation, your eyes drifted to the emergency room beyond the door, surprised to see the scene in a mess. Doctors and nurses hustled around a single gurney, all yelling things at each other in a picture of organized chaos. You caught wind of a familiar term: “GSW”, and your fingers gripped at the brittle white sheets layered over the mattress. The wheels rolled against the tiles, clearing the quickest path to the operating room. Peeking up to sneak a glimpse, fear shot through you, paralyzed all from the tousled brown waves that reminded you of Tom’s.

As your breaths grew short and ragged, you repeated over and over it couldn’t be him, but paired with Tom not showing up or answering the call, it was more than terrifying. Ripping out the clear tubes taped onto your wrist, you shoved past the officers despite their protests and made a break for the gurney racing down the hallway. Running up to its side, a doctor persisted to pull you away, but not before you called after who you hoped was not him.

“Tom!” you screamed, jumping on the tops of your toes to peer over the shoulders in your way. A crack of space granted you a clear glimpse, confirming your worst fears. Tom’s head rolled to your side, cheeks pale and soaked in perspiration, eyelashes fluttering through the pain to look up in the direction of his name. His eyes widened as much as his body would allow once they fell on you, the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a relieved smile.  _You were okay._

You took another step to him, wanting more than anything to clasp onto his trembling hand and maybe take away some of his pain. Tom opened his mouth to speak, but coughed up a spurt of blood, staining his collar crimson red. His head jolted back as a groan escaped his mouth, the bleeding from his wound exponentially increased, there was no time left to waste. The gurney flew into the elevator, and as the doors clicked shut, your knees smacked against the tiles. Collapsing to the floor, the guilt overrode every thought, he had been trying to save you.

None of it made any sense; you couldn’t possibly lose him twice. It wasn’t even close to enough time. Time didn’t accurately measure up to what you felt for each other, it couldn’t describe the overwhelmingly strong pull or the need to be by his side. You needed more of it, you needed time to wake up with his arms flung over you and for morning kisses and fresh coffee. You needed time for late night snuggles, for comforting hugs after long, bad days, for kids, for growing old, for all of it. You knew Tom for only a sliver of time and needed years with him, not days.

Dragging yourself to your feet, you trudged to the waiting room, plopping in a seat closest to the door and the clock. Tom needed somebody on his side, waiting for him to make it out okay, and you had to be strong for that.

***

Tom’s eyes wildly spun in circles from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face, his heart beating out of his chest. He didn’t want to go this way, to die in a room of doctors without anybody he loved by his side. He always knew that with his line of work came the very real possibility of death, but before he met you he had nothing to live for; he didn’t care if he was dead or if he was alive. As a mask filled with anesthetics enclosed his mouth, forcing him to breathe in the gas, his consciousness slowly faded out of reality. In his mind, the only thought that lingered was that he had to make it out okay, to see you next to him. And if he didn’t make it, at least he died fighting for love, at least he did something good for once; he would die a hero rather than a cold, callous mobster. You saved him in more ways than once, and he would be forever grateful to you.

***

The thin, black hand of the clock slowly ticked across the circle, your eyes didn’t blink, not wanting to miss a second. You prepared yourself for the worst, visualizing the doctor slowly striding towards you to take a seat next to you in the uncomfortable chairs. She would give you the prepared speech, “We did everything we could, but despite our best efforts, he didn’t make it through the surgery.” Your chin trembled and you let out a shaky breath of air before another sob flew from your lips. The constant stream of watery tears left wrinkles on your cheeks and faint black smears of mascara rimmed underneath your eyes.

Locked in a trance, time slipped past and just when your eyes fluttered closed, the doctor placed a hand on your shoulder, jolting you back awake. She simply nodded, her features indecipherable as she led you through the doors. Your legs followed but it felt like walking through a mist, not sure where you were going and if you wanted to be going there in the first place. Stepping into a room, your eyes fell upon Tom, your soulmate, hooked up to countless machines, but still alive and breathing.  _He was okay._

Clear tubes strapped over almost every inch of him, his chest steadily rose and fell and it was all so reassuring yet at the same time sickening to see. He was a mobster, but here he lay in a pale, pastel blue hospital gown, barely able to breathe without the help of a machine. Tom looked too fragile you feared to touch him, feared you would break him. Carefully, you stepped up to the side of his bed, stroking a line of skin on the back of his hand with one finger. The warmth from his body fulfilled you, it would all really be okay, he was breathing and warm and alive.

Tom felt his eyelids weighing down heavily, but he pushed them as far open as he could to look at you through the blurry sheen that covered his vision. A small whimper left his mouth, his throat too dry to formulate the words desperately burning in his chest. Your hand wrapped around a plastic cup of water at his bedside, and you cautiously lifted the wide orange straw to his cracked lips. He weakly folded his lips over the straw, sucking in a small sip of water that smoothly slid down his throat. Watching him worriedly, your fingers entangled through his curls, the sensation from your touch eased the stinging pain he felt all over. Tom wondered if he really had died, if you were an angel and he was in heaven, but then a cough overtook him and his lungs dwindled in his chest.

He opened his mouth to speak but you shook your head, pressing a finger to his lips to silence him. He shot you a defiant look, insisting he had to speak before it tore him apart. You sighed, nodding as he rubbed his lips together and ran his tongue across his front teeth, searching for the right words.

“Pri–princess, you… you’re too good for me,” Tom sputtered out, his voice cracking over every word but the content was more than satisfying. Your heart ached, this time not of pain but of relief and thankfulness and love. Throwing your arms over his body, your chest pressed against his. You gripped his chin in your palms, gently yet passionately you placed a sweet, emotional kiss to his lips. Tom’s eyebrows shot upward, his whole body went numb and felt alive all at the same time. He let you make every move, let you make all of it happen. For once, it didn’t make him feel weak not being the one to control everything. It felt refreshing, like coming up for air, it felt okay. It felt okay to not have to put up a cold front, to let stuff happen to him without power over the results. It felt okay to be human, to be vulnerable, to be falling in love with his soulmate, with you.

“I’m falling for you,” you whispered into his ear, not caring about the consequences. From now on if you had something to say you wouldn’t let it sit heavy at the back of your tongue, because who knew what could happen, what words could be your last.

Gazing into your eyes, a single teardrop ran down the side of his cheek. Memories came in flashes, of your first and only date, of that phone call, of crashing into you at the restaurant. And especially of the first moment he laid eyes on you, crinkled up in a ball on the ground, crying in the rain. All he had wanted was to keep you safe and dry, but his inhibitions kept him from speaking the truth. Tom wished he could take back the utter and complete lie he had spat out that night, telling you that he wouldn’t be your soulmate, when now that was all he wanted.

“I’m falling for you too,” he repeated, the words dripped like sweet honey from his lips and you wanted to take them and lock them up in your heart, to stay in moments like this forever.

Forever because soulmates are forever, no matter how rough the bond forms.  _Fate will pull you back into each other until you’re too exhausted to deny the connection._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! :)


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